been writing. I’m not (even really) writing now–just distracting myself from some scanning that I’ve been putting off.

Things haven’t taken a turn one way or the other where it involves Omitted, and I’m angry at Omitted. Angry about the silent treatment, angry when I think about Omitted’s omitted encouraging Omitted to take the silent route, whatever. It’s our Omitted on Saturday. I’ll probably send an email. I probably will not receive a response. We’ll probably spend the rest of our lives resenting one another.

The new job has been great. Three omitted submissions over the past three weeks. We heard back about one of them, didn’t omitted, but somehow in that universe, there’s enough that’s being worked on to simply move (the fuck) on quickly. I’m glad I work there and I’m glad I’m contributing. I’m not competing with anyone–maybe there’s something to that.

The old job, dealings with it, have taken a turn for the worse. My old boss wants me to come in for a days or so to tie up loose ends. I want to send him an email that says

You’re missing the point of my having quit for personal reasons. I gave you notice as to when I would leave the office, and worked an additional two days for you. I would like my past three paychecks mailed to me before I come in to the office to complete any additional work.

And the stuff I will not include in the email:

Quit being such a miserable little ninny, Omitted. You’re in Omitted! Omitted! The largest omitted in the omitted! There are thousands of employable people who can be hired for the shit job I worked for you! They won’t do it nearly as well as I did, but ther’re out there! You don’t even have to turn all the rocks in Omitted Park to find them!

I should keep this all off-blog, but he’s never going to read it, and really no one’s ever go to read this. I just hate that he was begging in his last email. Asshat ape shit moron.

A former co-worker at that job is going to the Labor Department for withheld wages–he quit a few days after I did (and I quit two weeks after one of the interns I really got along with quit; when that happened, it really woke me the fuck up: I don’t have to stay at a firm an intern can’t even stand). I guess my boss owes him $10K, I guess he really needs this because he has kids. He’s been calling me for advice, but I know he’s not really listening.

I started a new project called The Omitted. I work on it when I’m on the omitted when it’s a dead zone. I probably won’t do anything with it, but it’s been a source of great relief.

from my job tomorrow. Resignation letter is short. I think I did enough to ensure that my employer doesn’t take it (the words) personally. It would be best if they all just figured something is really just wrong with me. Decided on personal reasons rather than issues. Decided that I was enabling all that’s wrong with practicing omitted in the real world. Decided I was enabling a version of omitted that took a back seat to pushing paper. That’s why I’m leaving abruptly. There has to be that personal one-liner, pager, novella that omitteds always return to in order to assess the values they’re omitting (for their omitted). Omitteds always need to beautiful, even if one needs omitteds to omitted it on one’s behalf. Omitted is the one thing I believe in and, since I’m committed to functioning in reality, or on its terms (temporarily?), I better work a job where it can stay something I never lose faith in.

L (initials will no longer be followed by a period), while consoling me re the Omitted issue, said [My name] I have faith that you’ll get through this. I really do. He’s the only person I want to be around lately. He dreams and does and still has his life ahead of him.

I trust that the decisions I will make over the next 24 hours are good ones.

I sometimes tell myself, At least now when my parents tell people where I work, they can drop the name proudly. At least it stands for something. At least it stands for Omitted, and the kind of practice where people didn’t give up on the brainwaves it’s all built upon.

Thoughts are separating.

I think about the person I love most in the world and my sister telling me about a nun interview on NPR, how she said something like–

X.,
Thank you for making the work you make. It was my pleasure attending the show. I was able to get the package at my old apartment. I borrowed one of those sortof crappy wheeled trolleys from the Halal store on the corner of ###th and [Named] St. and brought the thing home. I felt like a homeless person but it was an adventure.

[P.S. I understand French very well.]

Dear R.,
I’m glad to hear you arrived in S safely. Did you see any weird people on the train? I did on this city’s # train. More like heard. The dude’s robot beggar ditty started with: I am [Name], I was recently released from prison and I don’t have a job. If any of you have money or a job I could work–any job–please let me know. I think the prison part was weird. He didn’t provide any information as to why. I felt like if I heard something like I feel as though I served too much time for a petty thoughtless act or Don’t worry, I committed a petty crime or–well, whatever, some explanation–I would have given him some money. Sometimes the crime fits the time. I don’t know where I am going with this.

Dear S.,
You’re like a teenager all the time. I’m like one of those girls whose boyfriend you stole.

I am tired. I made a potato + cauliflower + herb mash for dinner. It looked good. Too much garlic or not enough butter. I felt like I was suffering from whatever that artist YK suffers from all day at work today. Severe lack of focus, probably because I am interviewing for the second time at another place tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll feel the same way tomorrow, but I don’t want my employer to think I want him to change the course of my 18-month plan. I know I don’t want to omitted for the company. That’s where I drew the line in the sand, gravel, flagstone, tumbled rocks, whatever.

I had a fucked up dream last night where two Japanese girls dressed in white decided I would look good with 2/5ths of my head shaved. (Half of) One of those stupid haircuts that people in non-coastal cities sport that people in coastal cities have grown out of. The Japanese girls and I were in some huge building with a wonderfully complex plan running from people inflicting some sort of violence. Evening. A lot of people in white. Parts of it looked like 10s 20s images of New York with light shining beaming from the Woolworth building bouncing off other facades.

food throughout the day and clementines for dinner. I should have gone to the grocery store today. I went up to work (1/3 jobs I work) instead. I enjoyed the day with my employer. One disappointment: the omitted, when mounted, did not have enough omitted for the omitted to bypass the omitted (which sucked). But we got a lot of work done omitting down the omitted in the omitted. I hope there are more of those days ahead.

I’m thinking about going to the grocery store but am at a complete loss as to what I would buy there. Several heads of cauliflower for easy dinners, crackers for binge omitting off- work (3/3 jobs) hours, a giant slab of steak that I’d feel guilty about buying because it’s not one I’d be buying from the Farmers Market that’s been out of reach since the move to this hood, what else–have been generally clueless as to what I’d like to eat since I moved to this apartment.

Earlier today, I decided I love this apartment. My sister was right with her You found a unicorn. It’s been perfect for the past 2.5 months that I’ve lived here, and having a separate bedroom means that I sleep enough / have a place to sleep without electronics in the room. I doubt that’s the first thing that belongs on the list of pros: Not having to share space with any of the psychotic roommates I once shared space with, access to transportation, being able to make (and clean up) whatever messes I want when I want, being in a neighborhood that won’t be gentrified for a little while longer than the previous one, having a neighborhood filled with this city’s others, having the best (and cheapest) wash & fold down the street (never having to waste time doing laundry), having south facers and bright light when I need it most, being able to have plants deep in the living room because of the south facers, having landlords who didn’t require more than the standard proofs of income and references and who aren’t in my shit or not dealing with the shit they need to deal with, just having space to myself.

In writing all of that, I feel guilty about having space to myself, but I did give the sharing economy OR WHATEVER a chance for a year. I really tried to be a good roommate 4 times(/apartment) or 6 times(/actual roommates). At some point, there was no point in–enough. The only reason why I got carried away over the last few sentences is because my old superintendent called me to tell me I had a package waiting at the old apartment. I think it may be a book, but I worry it may be a box of shit from Omitted (I didn’t tell Omitted about having found a place and I didn’t fwd my new address). For whatever reason, the old superintendent sounded pissed off about the package–I imagine it’s in the stairwell and neither one of my former roommates bothered to let me know about it. What I learned from sharing space with other people (which may read hyper-Christian to anyone who’s sensitive, but it’s not really meant that way because I’m thinking more along the lines of Musil’s obsessive repetition of it in the fat double volume; or my only advice to others for the new year):

between [Named] Street and [my Numbered] Street, and with my head in the pages of a book about a sham marriage (gay man married an emotionally unstable lady) titled [what stars do], a few things tried to sort themselves out in my head. And sort them out in the context of the book because Omitted purchased the book for me when our affections still [what stars do, past tense] brilliantly. Thought to be continued.

The interview went well! Something for the positive bin. I meet with someone else at the omitted and the person who I interviewed with comes up with a salary package this coming week. The latter she brought up leaving my current job and also told me I get paid like an intern. I don’t know what that all means, but I hope it means something good. Really, I’m just trying to beat the wage one of my part-time bosses pays me. I have never developed the ability to be (greedy?) when it comes to money. I guess it never came up. I called my father once the (2 hour) interview was over and spoke with him, my mother, the twin and the latter’s lover. The latter he spoke with me about negotiating whatever salary they offer. I was so droopy-eyed at the interview. After all this time, I barely know how to act excited about all the positive stuff in my life. All the shit re Omitted just swoops in like a thick fog dotted in hazards. Hazards that, once the fog lifts, tick on.

I want all those good moments with Omitted front and center for both of us. I want all the good of one of my favorite author’s Good Times to really win out. When I hear my imagination of Omitted’s voice hint I’ve omitted omitted you, what I want–

I want to pass out because I’m so tired from struggling to sleep under Delta’s blue lights and wake up in the city I quit to Omitted’s footsteps coming home from–

I want to support Omitted’s happiness but I need mine considered too. I don’t want to believe the twin when the twin tells me I’ve given Omitted too much credit.

shaking the leg that’s attached to the foot, that’s perched on the c. 1901 wood floor, that’s supporting said leg and the other. I’ve prepared for the 11am interview as best I can–now all I have to do is stay awake until then. In about an hour and a half: send off 2017 email to Omitted (that I prepared an hour ago; tone veers tense, and rightfully so). Two hours ago: arrived from that city, where I spent the past two weeks glued to the slopes and off the screens and avoiding all work emails, especially the ones from the omitted who’s an asshat, who convinced my favorite person at work to leave, who may have also convinced me.

I am nervous for the interview, but confident that I’m (at least) within the top 3 on the list of ideal hires. I won’t look awake enough and this will work to my disadvantage. I’ll wear what I have worn to the interviews that have landed me jobs: a black shirt, a black sweater, black slacks, a colored pair of socks (tough shit if the color’s not their jam), a pair of shoes I like (that bring me closer to my ideal height, that are leather, laced and flat).

I spent the past week incredibly angry at Omitted (same instance as above). I shouldn’t be sending the email. I shouldn’t be acknowledging Omitted considering what Omitted’s been putting me through and what Omitted will put me through in 2017. I need the universe to toss me a loophole around this one, or a black hole and a little force. My sister tells me to plan for the worst, meanwhile I’ve only planned for what’s just a little worse than whatever’s transpired over the past few months. I told her that if it happens the way I think it might, that I’d tell everyone Omitted omitted, that I’d write a book about all the different ways he omitted as a way to keep track of the trajectory of the lie (that he omitted). I don’t know what I’m allowed to do and what I’m allowed to feel. My sister tells me I’ve assigned Omitted too much credit. I hesitate to believe her. I want to pretend the universe has something else in mind for us. I want to think Time has something else in store for us.

In around an hour: send the email. In around and hour and a half: leave for the interview.

Poe in bed with my head on memory foam. Three thoughts: The best part about being back home is having access to (one of) my [wall-to-wall/corner-to-wall college-era library which sits perpendicular to and across from my wall-to-wall middle- to high school] library(|-ies).

on Ikea bookshelves x 3 on my FB feed and why was I on there and why are those high value books on such shit shelves? I built out the wall in my room with the same shelves and I’m an asshole for criticizing, but at least I spanned the pair with a desk console I built myself and the top of the bookshelves in order to frame out the window and reinforced the shelving with found L bracing that I reversed and–whatever–furniture is expensive and everything else is expensive and sometimes you just have to cut corners and sometimes the coincidence of the shelves + extension unit + extension unit matching the height of your room is just something you just fly with. I like how common it looks. But I’m not in that apartment and right now I hate how I feel (re Omitted and work and the future). I never once thought anything bad about him. That’s all I keep repeating in my head.

I’m not looking forward to returning to the city, going back to work on the 2nd, opening my mailbox to find two bills (electric, Internet), waiting for hot water to course through the radiators so that my apartment will feel like a greenhouse–before all that: taking the train to the apartment from the airport (I’ll probably take a cab instead). I am looking forward to the back and forth with Omitted (new instance) re interviewing them them. I’m just glad they read my resume and got back to me. The whole application process just reinforces that my skillset is bullshit and that I would’ve been better off if I had stayed in school, then stayed in school again.

I’m looking through our books and hating the time we spent together. I’m looking through our books wondering if they hate each other as much as you hate me. When it involves picking between doubles to read, I pick mine over yours. This makes me hate you less.

posts: Select All > Bulk Actions > Edit > Status: Private > Update. I’m starting this over for the third time. The last post I wrote was in late May, when I was still talking/writing shit on the people I shared space with. *(Moved far below). Here’s a since-May short-form update:

I no longer live with Troglodyte & Oxtail. Half a month before the end of my lease in the apartment I shared with them, I got on CL for the daily STUDIO APARTMENT NOW browse and happened upon a listing for a turnedouttobea1-bedandnota studio in omitted, a few blocks east of the Trog & Oxtail apt. I contacted the landlords for a viewing the next day, filled out paperwork and submitted 12xrent proof of savings and 40xrent proof of income the same day, signed a lease by that week’s end, hired movers and bounced the next week. I didn’t warn Trog & Oxtail, didn’t say goodbye or wish them well. I took all my furniture and the common spaces were stripped bare when I shut the door on that apartment.

I’m still multi-job overactive, but started a full-time job in October at an omitted omitted. I am good at the job, am poorly compensated compared to the two other part-times I maintain in order to stay overactive and distracted from all the bullshit Omitted’s been putting me through over the past few months. Full-time doesn’t suit how I think about life and how I want to use my time but at least I’m distracted, have a wealth of material for the omitted I’m working on and the petty wage adds up.

Dealings with Omitted ([same as previous usage] which I wrote about asabstractasIcan-edly in the past of this blog) are still shit and it’s radio silence and thinking about it–silent, colorless, and god I’m just trying to be compassionate, ambivalent, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

I’m thrilled about having moved to the 1-bed. South-facing with three giant windows in the living room, non-electric heating, a bathtub, car wash water pressure. I finally got around to building out the wall around the bedroom window as a bookshelf/desk and filling the shelves with all the books I previously had drawered a few days before I left the city for this city for the holidays.

I thought I was going somewhere with this. I think I’ll use this to journal regularly and to work through the situation with Omitted in words–hopefully it won’t turn into too much of an emo-dump.

Same rules apply with this restart: the/this city = the city where I live / the island (unless otherwise noted), that city = the city where I grew up, the city that I quit = the city where I spent 4 years of my life and had to quit in 2014 and miss tremendously and that I’m trying to mimic by living in the/that city.

*[Aside alert] Before I get carried away with this entry–Merry Christmas to anyone who is reading. Re Christmas: I’m thrilled it fell on a weekend because Christmas Eve mass covered Sunday mass. I’ve had to attend mass every day for the past week because I’m home for the holidays and my parents omitted an omitted for omitteds in the omitted omitted. I secretly love Christmas, whatever’s left of it when it’s stripped of the tunes, decorations, etc. The family stuff, mostly. My sister is in town too. We spent the day around the house. She was more productive than I am. My parents are extremely proud when they introduce us to their friends (those related to the reason why we attended mass every day this week and otherwise)–we’re the kids that skipped town, made something of ourselves and are well educated, we both live in places a lot of people would dream to sustain themselves in, we still come home and attend mass with them and support their endeavors as devout omitteds despite only believing in our parents’ God because of what that god means to them, etc. I’m (sick) grateful for all the time I can spend with my parents and the twin.